The Avenging Angel
by jerk.bitch.assbutt.idjit
Summary: Dean Winchester had never wanted anything so badly in his entire life. His entire body seemed to quake with desire. "I'm gonna get you one day, Novak." He spat out. Castiel's blue eyes sparkled in amusement. "We'll see about that, Winschester." Castiel was making Dean's life as a FBI agent a living hell. AU Destiel.
1. Prologue

_A/N: WARNING: This IS going to be a cliché crime story, because I feel that some people DO enjoy a smoldering bad-ass Castiel and a good-guy – intense – Dean. K? I hope you guys enjoy. _

_English is NOT my native language and this is un-beta'ed sooooo read at your own risk. Also, if you're interested in becoming my beta, by all means, send me a message!_

_P.S. If you review I will be eternally grateful and I'll even send you a picture...of something or other related to Supernatural or the actors! :)_

**The Avenging Angel**

**Prologue:**

The icy wind cut right through Dean Winchester's leather jacket and he couldn't help the small expletive coming from his shivering mouth.

"It's fucking cold, Anna." He moaned, rubbing his hands together before pursing his lips and blowing warm air into said extremities. The red haired girl shot him a dark look and snuggled deeper into the blanket covering her small frame.

"No shit Sherlock." She mustered before ducking her head in between her legs and covering up her entire body. After another few minutes of silence, wherein Dean had done a few jumping jacks in the vain hope of sparking some sort of heat, Anna peeked out of her hole. "Y-you do want to catch this f-fucker, right Dean?" She stuttered out, ignoring the look Dean threw her.

It was a stupid question, though. Anybody in a five mile radius knew how badly Dean wanted to catch this guy. Dean nodded and Anna let out a small smug smile. She pushed her head into her little cocoon. "Then I suggest that you go jog or something, 'cause I have a feeling we're going to be here awhile." Her words were muffled, but clear enough and Dean chose only to grunt in agreement.

It took only thirty minutes for Dean to go on another rant about the sucky weather. Anna swore in her enclosed space and raised her hand underneath the blanket. Dean couldn't properly see the shape, but he was almost completely positive that she was flipping him off.

Dean looked down the road at the winking lights of the Dunkin' Donuts sign and sighed at the inviting sight. 'Come hither.' The warm space with promising sweet treats and hot beverages seemed to call out.

Fuck it.

"I'm gonna go get some coffee at the Dunkin' Donuts." Dean said, his eyes quickly scanning the immediate area, searching for a criminal he knew he wasn't going to find – yet anyway. "Want anything?" He added when he had finished his inspection.

"Bring me some of those thingies with the cream inside." Anna mumbled, not even raising her head.

Dean's lope was a mixture between a speed-walk and a jog. The moment he stepped into the store – bell tinkling happily above his head – warmth spread over him and a sigh slipped from his lips.

He quickly made his way to the counter where a pretty brunette was manning the cash register. Her eyes perked up as she saw the visitor, obviously not expecting anyone this time at night. Once she saw Dean's full form she perked up even more. Her eyelashes batting furiously. Dean had to contain his smirk.

"Coffee – black. Two Boston Cremes and one chocolate glaze." Dean lowered his tone – suggestively - and leaned forward on the counter. He might have been fishing for a phone number. He also conveniently noticed that her black skirt fit nicely as she bent over to grab a box from underneath the counter.

"So, late night?" She asked, while pouring Dean's coffee. Dean laughed lightly, handing her his money and smiling at the fact that her touch seemed to linger.

"You could say that." He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced up to see her curious look. "I'm busy with a stakeout." He added. She frowned in confusion and he stifled the urge to smack his forehead. So maybe she wasn't the brightest crayon in the box. "I'm a cop." He watched as her eyes widened and a spark flashed within.

Ah, no girl could resist a man in uniform. He picked up the box of pastries and lifted his coffee cup, tipping it in her direction – her number written with a sharpie etched onto the Styrofoam catching the corner of his eye.

"You have a goodnight, Ma'am." Dean threw a wink for good measure, before turning around and leaving the comfy store for the chilly night air.

Dean stood in front of the store and took a sip of the hot coffee, throwing a curse as the scalding liquid hit his taste buds. He glanced around the neighborhood and tipped his head as he heard the faint sound of...sirens?

Dean's entire body tensed and if his hands hadn't been occupied he would have his gun out. He tried to pin point the direction the sirens were coming from, but the large buildings were echoing the sound. He could, however, hear that they were still a while's away.

He was halfway turned to make his way to Anna when a black motorcycle turned around the corner. Dean froze and watched the vehicle blast past him, before making a sharp U-turn and shooting straight towards him. Dean flinched as it stopped a foot away.

"I'll be taking that." A deep gravelly voice sounded from underneath a black-as-night helmet. Gloved hands reached out to take the coffee and box out of Dean's frozen hands. "Thank you, Mr. Winchester. I owe you one."

And then he was off.

Dean was frozen for a split second before he grabbed his gun and aimed it at the motorcycle. It was useless, though, the bike being long gone. He lowered his gun and stood frozen until Anna jogged up to him, her eyes tight.

"That was -" Dean's mouth felt dry. Anna nodded, looking at him intensely. They stood silently as Dean tried to process what just happened.

"SON OF A BITCH!" He shouted out into the night, punching the air and wishing it was somebody's face.

He stood there as the sirens rounded the corner and his fellow agents climbed out of their cars.

Strangely enough... all Dean could think about was the gravelly voice and the fact that said gravelly voice had stolen his cup with the number of the cute cashier engraved on it.


	2. Chapter 1: Son of A Bitch

**The Avenging Angel**

**Chapter 1: Son of A Bitch**

Dean's overtired eyes burned as they hit the light from the tiny screens. He took a sip from his cup, before grimacing in disgust as the cold liquid ran down his sore throat.

"Ed, get me another cup of coffee, would ya?" Dean called out, his voice hoarse from misuse. Dean could see that Ed was going to protest and shot him a pointed glare, causing the rookie to scamper off.

Voices drifted from outside Dean's office and once he had sat back and closed his eyes he recognized Ed's, accompanied by another voice with a particularly concerned tone. He listened to the tap of shoes against wood and didn't open his eyes until he heard the click of the door closing shut.

"You shouldn't take advantage of the kid like that, Dean." Dean could hear the disapproval seeping through his brother's voice.

"Hmmmm?" Dean muttered, not completely paying attention. He was too busy sorting through a mental catalog.

"Ed," Sam carried on, folding his giant frame into one of the seats in front of Dean's desk. "You're using him as if he were your assistant. It's not his job to get you coffee or do your laundry."

"He doesn't do my laundry." Dean slurred, his speech impaired by his cloudy head. "And what are rookies for if not to take advantage of, little brother." He grinned a lopsided smile, before focusing his gaze upon the screens once more. He could almost feel the waves of concern, disapproval and altogether motherliness pour off of his brother. "And spare me the crappy lecture, Sammy. I know that you think that my obsession with this case has reached an insane limit, but I'm not gonna rest until this fucker is in jail."

Ed took this as a wonderful opportunity to walk in and set Dean's coffee down. Dean smiled at the ginger-haired (unable to classify the dude as anything else) kid.

"You can go home, Ed. I got this. I need you sharp for tomorrow if we're going to catch this bastard."

Ed shoulder's slumped in relief and he didn't waste a second in grabbing his stuff and heading out with just so much as a 'have a nice night, boss'.

Dean wasn't a boss. He liked to think that he was important to the Bureau, but truthfully he was just another agent that might be fucking good at what he does but expendable at the end. Dean was notorious amongst his co-workers to obsess over each and every one of his cases. It wasn't their fault that the one Dean was currently working on was being irra – fucking – tating in its elusiveness.

"You wanna tell me what happened last night?" Sam's voice broke through Dean's little bubble. The latter picked up the steamy cup of coffee, threw the Styrofoam cup a glare and put it back down. "You came home last night – all pissed off might I add – and almost drunk yourself into a stupor. What the hell happened?"

Dean kept his eyes trained on the screens in front of him. After a few seconds of silence, Dean huffed and lowered his heads to rest in his hands.

"Son of a bitch." Dean muttered, his voice muffled and sad. Sam leaned forward, ignoring the way his large body cramped in the awkward position, and patted his older brothers back.

"There there, Dean." He said, pouting when Dean raised his head and glared. "You brave little soldier." Sam walked around the desk and dropped to his knees, before pulling his brother in for a hug with a simultaneous: "Come here. Too precious for this world."

Dean struggled against his monstrosity of a brother's thick bands of arms.

"Fuck. Shut up, Sam."

Sam dropped his arms, but not before he dropped a kiss on Dean's forehead.

"Ewww. Get off me." Dean shoved and Sam stumbled backward with a snort. "Dude, stow the touchy-feely, self-help yoga crap! Come on!"

Sam's laugh resonated throughout the room and he watched as Dean's lips tugged upward at the corner into a little smile.

"Now seriously, Dean. What happened? You know that you can tell me anything." Sam's face slid into a serious frown and upon Dean's skeptical look Sam lifted his hands into a sign of surrender.

"The guy, Sam." Dean sighed and picked up the coffee once more, twirling the cup in his hands and staring into the creamy brown. "The guy I've been looking for."

"The Avenging Angel?" Sam interrupted.

"No not the fucking Avenging Angel. Nobody who steals can possibly be called an angel." Dean took a sip of the drink in his hand, before dumping the cup onto the desk, again. Sam held up his hands again, acquiescing.

"I'm just saying, Dean. The media seems to be sticking with the whole angel thing. What with the thief stealing religious artifacts and leaving behind a feather as a calling card. Well, it's not hard to understand-"

"I know. I know." Dean said. Sam tried to be conspicuous as he stole Dean's coffee and took a sip, but his brother caught him with a frown on his face. "I understand as well. It's just...well last night..." Dean fell silent, not exactly sure where to begin. He supposed the beginning would be best.

"Okay, so as you know I've been tracking this guy for some time now." Sam nodded, knowing full well how his brother has obsessed over this. "And I've begun to track his movements and I found that he had this habit." Dean rummaged around his crowded desk, grunting about a map. He exclaimed when he found one and unfolded it in front of Sam. He picked up a highlighter from a desk drawer and begun to draw a path. After finishing the one road, he started up again on the other side of the map. When Dean leaned back the page was a bright yellow. A kaleidoscope of paths. Sam looked intently and smiled when he caught the connection.

"He follows the same path? Every time?" He asked Dean.

"Yeah, he always seems to follow the same path. No matter where his heist was. Of course, this is the information I have gathered from all the times we caught up to his plans in time. There's a few of his heist's where we didn't even realize he's stolen anything until the day after. But every time we have a high speed chase – which is too fucking much, because we should have caught the fucker in a fucking high speed chase – we follow him into this street. And then he disappears. We've searched the street, but we're still not sure how he seems to vanish into thin air."

Dean paused a moment to rummage in his desk drawers, before he pulled out a small flask while ignoring Sam's raised eyebrows. He took a swig.

"Personally," Dean started again, his voice smooth and deep because of the alcohol. "I think he's screwing with us. He's only pretending to let us chase him, before he decides it's enough for one day and then he vanishes. Smooth little fucker."

Sam fell back into his chair, cringing at dangerous creaking sound it made. He tugged at the end of his long hair and sighed.

"He's really that good – or bad depending on your point of view." He offered, genuinely curious. "You're not just exaggerating, because he's becoming impossible to catch, are you?" Sam shrunk into his chair at the black look his brother was currently throwing at him.

"No! Fuck, Sammy. Everyone seems to underestimate this guy! And that's why he's become so cocky that he thinks he can play with the bureau. This is serious. He's serious. And we need to be serious, if we want to find the fucker."

Dean started sorting through his clutter, packing his stuff up with a sad expression on his face.

"Come on. I'll pack up and we can get out of here. I'll buy you a beer and tell you about last night." Sam agreed and stood up, throwing away the coffee. He leaned against the doorway and watched his brother pack. He noticed the tense set of Dean's shoulder's and shook his head while worry overtook his thoughts.

"You know, the stupid idiot stole my coffee." Dean mumbled, while they walked to the Impala. Dean climbed in and Sam stood outside with a confused look on his face.

'Did he just say the stupid idiot had stolen his coffee?' Sam thought, before he climbed into the Impala.

The rumbling of the car seemed to soothe Dean and Sam thought he could even see a hint of a smile on his face.

None of them saw the figure in the corner of the building with the tan trench coat, blue eyes and smug smile.

_**A/N: Yeah...that's chapter one. I'm an exchange student in America and I'm currently sitting in my host family's sitting room watching the BlackHawks/Bruin Stanley game...soooo I was slightly distracted writing this. Sorry for making mistakes...any mistakes are all my own.**_

_**Please REVIEW**_

_**/|\**_

_**/|\**_

_**/|\**_

_**Okay...**_

_**Jerk. Bitch. Assbutt. Idjit. **_


	3. Chapter 2: Who's there?

_**A/N: I just reread the previous chapter and I apologize for all the mistakes. Obviously, I had been extremely sleep deprived and it had messed up my ability to formulate sentences that could be understood... :( Sorry about that. Anyhoo, thanks for all who read, followed, favorited and most of all reviewed. I don't generally let people read my writing, 'cause I'm self-conscious like that, but I feel that if there might be even the slightest chance that someone is enjoying my story, then I should take the chance to write it. **_

_**I know that the current location of these paintings might not be New York, but this is MY story and it also happens to be fiction...so what the hell. **_

_**I do not own anything Supernatural...though my cats may be up for consideration (they see things humans can't. I swear!) **_

_**Please review and most of all enjoy!**_

**The Avenging Angel**

**Chapter 2: Who's there?**

The feather danced in the soft breeze. It seemed to be spinning and struggling against the pin that held it against the dull wall. It's black tip reaching for the window as the wind seduced it. The dark color was always coated with another pigment; something that shimmered as it shifted in the air.

'Purple?' Dean thought as he studied it. The light reflected and the color changed.

'No. It's blue.' He thought, before the light shifted again.

Dean gave up before he could unleash his impatience on the beige wall that looked so dreary underneath the brilliant feather.

"What is it?" A nasally voice sounded from behind the agent. Dean slowly turned around and came face to face with James Smith; the owner of the New York Art Institute.

"A feather." Dean answered, doing his damnedest not to let the sarcasm drip. The large man waddled over to where Dean stood, frowning at the empty frame.

"Was it The Avenging Angel?" Smith asked. The man lifted his fatty paw to the feather, but Dean's clamped hand on his shoulder seemed to change his mind. "Right. Evidence, I apologize." Dean removed his hand slowly, eying Smith for a second before turning back to the feather, scowling.

"Yes, it was The fucking Avenging Angel." Dean growled, as he took a pair of white gloves from his back pocket and snapped them on. He pinched the feather between his thumb and forefinger and gently pried it from the wall. "Ed?" He shouted, wondering why he even had to call the rookie.

"Of course it was The Avenging Angel. A criminal of his stature was bound to target an Art Institute such as mine." Smith boasted, seeming to admire the empty frame.

Dean stared, silently choosing a few choice expletives he wished he could call the idiotic man. But before he could voice any of the twelve that came to mind, Ed came jogging into the room.

"About time." Dean muttered, taking out his previous frustration on the twenty – something year old. Ed silently handed Dean an evidence bag and a cup of steaming coffee.

"Oh, the coffee, right." Dean flushed, remembering that he had sent out Ed a few minutes ago. "Thanks." He took a sip and felt another wave of guilt. Maybe his little brother had been right. Dean could be a little too hard on Ed. "How 'bout you go back to the station and take this to forensics." Dean handed him the feather and flashed a smile, hoping that the apology was clear.

Ed loved the forensics lab. Dean liked to pretend that the boy was interested in science, but he knew the only thing Ed was interested in was a certain blond bombshell of a forensic analyst.

Ed smiled from ear to ear and grabbed the bag eagerly.

"And say hi to Jo for me." Dean tagged on, chuckling when he saw the blush cover the rookie's face.

An hour later, Dean was relieved to walk out of the enormous building.

His team had scoured every inch of the empty frame, hoping for some sort of evidence, while Dean looked for possible ways for The Avenging Angel to have entered. There had been no evidence of breaking and entry and Smith had said that all the windows and doors automatically locked at midnight, with only guards having keys.

Dean had scheduled interviews with all the guards that had worked the previous night, for the next day.

On the way back to the station Dean received a call from Ed, confirming what he had already known, that there was no new evidence.

All in all, Dean couldn't have asked for a suckier day. Once he arrived back at the station, he was feeling irritated and aggressive and all he wanted to do was go back home, nurse a beer and maybe indulge in his guilty pleasure: Dr. Sexy M.D.

"Winchester? Get your ass over here." The gruff voice grated on Dean's nerves.

Sure, Bobby Singer – Lieutenant and Dean's boss - was like a father to Dean, but he just wanted to get this day over with.

Dean straightened from his slouched position and threw a smile on his face before taking the few steps into Bobby's office. Even through his whirlwind of emotions, Dean could see that Bobby was tired. The older man had bruising circles underneath his eyes and his desk was littered with papers, files, empty coffee mugs, and Red Bull canisters.

"Late night?" Dean joked, forcing his cheek muscles to smile. Bobby rolled his eyes and plopped into his chair. He grabbed a few loose papers and jammed them into a nearby file, while Dean sat on one of the cheap – yet comfortable – chairs placed in front of the Lieutenant's desk.

After both of the officers were settled, Bobby sighed and gave his undivided attention towards Dean. The latter just sat in silence as he watched Bobby study him, doing his best not to fidget.

"How's it going?" Bobby asked, raising an eyebrow and leaning forward slightly. Dean sat up straighter and tried to ignore the worried tone in his boss's voice.

"We found nothing new at the Institute. But I'm gonna interview the guards that were scheduled to work yesterday and hopefully we'll find something." Dean answered, struggling to not show how agitated he truly was by the lack of evidence.

Bobby shook his head.

"I meant, how's it going with you?" He said. "Some people have come to me with some worries. They think that you are to emotionally invested in this case." Dean made to interrupt, but Bobby bulldozed right over him. "I know, I know. I told them that this is what you do and this is what makes you such a brilliant sergeant. But I just wanted to check. I am the boss and I'm allowed to worry about my colleagues, so no bullshitting. How's it going?"

Dean paused.

After a moment of silence he exhaled sharply.

"Did Samantha put you up to this?" He asked, snorting. "Or was it Jo? Maybe, Ellen?" Dean couldn't ignore the face Bobby was pulling, it looked awfully a lot like Sam's bitch face. "Look, Bobby I am fine. You really do not have to worry. This happens every time and every time I get the bad guy and every time I end up being fine."

Bobby sighed and leaned backwards, the leather of his chair creaking.

"Fine, fine. Get back to work, Idjit." He sighed. Dean rose and turned to walk out. "But if anything bothers you, boy, you come and tell me." Dean paused, turned slightly, before walking away.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of paperwork, coffee and watching surveillance tapes of the Art Institute. Dean was more than relieved when the clock above his cubicle announced that it was finally time to go home. He quickly said his goodbyes, before hastily making his way to his beloved Impala.

"Let's go home, Baby." He whispered to the dashboard as they took off.

The moment Dean entered his apartment – which he actually shared with his brother Sam, so technically it was both of their apartment's – he felt the uncomfortable feeling of someone else having been in his house.

"Sam?" He called out, while softly putting down his keys and slipping his gun from the holster. He slipped around the corner after a moment of hesitation wherein he had hoped to hear his brother's voice. He checked the coat closet, as it was the closest, before making his way to the living room.

"Hello." A voice sounded from behind Dean.

_**A/N: SOOOOOOOO SORRYYYYYY IT TOOK THIS LONG. We moved and we didn't have internet until now, sooooooooooo... I'm sorry I didn't answer Inkpot Satsuma (I thought you'd rather have the chapter)**_

_**Okay, I have three questions for you guys.**_

_**Is there something specific you might want to happen in this story?**_

_**Sabriel, yay or nay?**_

_**And can you guess who was the visitor? The person that gets it right, will receive a very funny collage of Supernatural stuff. **_

_**Love, **_

_**Jerk. Bitch. Assbutt. Idjit. **_


End file.
